Zhoa Hugg
by bowtruckle90
Summary: Insight into the youth of the female tribute of District 12 for the 71st annual Hunger Games, Zhoa Hugg. Prequel to "Odds In Your Favor: Part I". I do not own the Hunger Games.


INFINITY SKY

The sky always seemed to calm Zhoa. It reminded her that the world was vast and someday she might be a part of a different piece of it. And according to her mother, a week from then she would be.

Zhoa had been in bed for three days, since her twelfth birthday. Her mother hadn't allowed her to so much as sit up, let alone go to the bathroom on her own. There had been no party, no presents, no visitors. But Zhoa wasn't sick. Mother told her it was a game. The game had been fun the first day. There were no chores for Zhoa to do and she spent the day in bed, like she was a Capitol girl. Now she was restless. She wanted to go outside. To hunt, or at least sit under a tree and feel the sun on her face.

Her mother came into the room carrying fresh towels in from the breeze to pack away in the wooden chest.

"Mom, what can't I go outside? There's nothing wrong with me."

Marie, Zhoa's mother, smiled a little and dropped her towels into the chest. "You're resting for something very important, sweetheart."

"The Reaping," Zhoa asked.

Marie sighed and sat on Zhoa's bed, resting a hand on her daughter's covered knee. "No honey." Marie bit her lip and sniffed. "You remember your Uncle Walten?"

"Kind of. He's dead."

"Yeah. That's the story the peacekeepers tell us, but they never found him. He went hiking in the middle of winter seven years ago, when he knew there would be a storm. Your uncle didn't die, Zhoa, he escaped. Into the wilderness in the north. He lives there with some others who have left Panem, I think. All kinds of people; teachers, craftsmen, traders…and you're going to join them."

Zhoa was confused. "How is that, Mom?"

"I've been telling everyone in town you're sick. Everyone thinks you have dysentery. While everyone has gathered for the reaping, your Uncle Joseph is going to take you to the boarder and hand you off to someone who lives near Uncle Walten. That person is going to take you to Walten."

Zhoa had been shaking her head more and more violently as Marie spoke. Now she thrust her hands forward and grabbed at her mother's sweater. "Mom! You lied to the peacekeepers. Is someone finds out the truth they'll take us all away! What about Millie and Magda?"

Marie held Zhoa close as tears streamed down her cheeks. "The Capitol took your father from me four years ago. I can't let them take you."

Without lifting her head away from her mother's chest Zhoa asked, "So we're leaving in two days? You and me?"

"No, baby," Marie pulled away and reached up, stroking Zhoa's cheek. "You have to go alone. I need to stay here and have a funeral for my dead daughter. If I go too, they'll come find us. I need to stay so I can keep you safe, continuing to make people believe you're dead."

Zhoa didn't sleep soundly that night. Zhoa was afraid of the Reaping; she didn't want to die. But lying about a deathbed exemption was just as dangerous. Even more so since this would be her first Reaping. Would she end up dead in a few weeks anyway? She hoped not…

Zhoa was woken early on the morning of the reaping, like all other children. Only on this morning, the curtains in the entire house were drawn and Uncle Joseph was in the kitchen, waiting. He wasn't really Zhoa's uncle. His wife Magda and Zhoa's mother had grown up together, but their family was like having an aunt, uncle and a sister. Zhoa packed a small bag like her mother said. Spare set of clothes, her hairbrush, the essential things. Uncle Walten will have everything you need when you get there, Marie had said.

When the children in the homes around them started emerging for the Reaping, Marie stared out the window through a loose seam in a curtain, waiting for all of them to have gone and the street to be deserted.

"Mom?" Marie turned around and sighed, laying a hand on her daughter's shoulder and sweeping a thumb under the other to banish a tear. "You'll be all right Zhoa. I'll come after you…someday."

"The children are all gone, Marie. We need to go." Joseph was shrugging on his coat and beckoning to Zhoa. The girl gave her mother one final hug and fought against her hiccupping tears as she closed the door behind her and tried to memorize every detail of her home, the feel of the peeling wood door, the rusted handle. She wanted to remember everything.

HUNTING

Zhoa woke up with a start. Her skin was soaked in sweat. She sat up and sighed. Another dream. When would this all end? It was three years ago, surely there would be a time when everything would begin to blur, right?

Mischa rolled over beside her. "Another nightmare?"

Zhoa nodded and lay back down, allowing Mischa to hold her close to him, which was not hard to accomplish since his bed was the old couch in the living room of his house. Zhoa took a breath and said, "I just want to forget about it. which is stupid. How do you forget about your mother being dragged off and Millie becoming fatherless?" Zhoa paused for a moment. "She was selfish."

"Your mother?"

"Yes."

"She was trying to protect you."

"There is no protecting any of us. There's only the rules and those who follow and those who don't. I don't blame her; my father's disappearance was hard. But she should have known better. His punishment was an example of what could have happened."

Mischa sat up now and stretched. "That's true. And just think, they could have pulled you out with her is they wanted to."

Zhoa snuggled into the blankets more against the morning chill. "Yeah only they slapped me with fifty extra entries instead."

"How many do you have now? 63?"

Zhoa held up both hands, one with all but the thumb tucked in.

"66 as of next week," Mischa corrected himself before knocking his wrist to his forehead. "That's right, tesserae for yourself and Magda and Millie. Again. If there was more game in the area anymore you wouldn't have to do that. You're lucky your name hasn't come up yet."

Zhoa rolled over the side of the couch and onto the balls of her feet and her hands. After doing a couple pushups and standing she said, "It's nothing to do with luck. They're holding my name back, I swear. They're waiting for my last year and then you watch it'll be me. I'm a cow being raised for slaughter."

Mischa said nothing to this but yawned and peered at the clock in the corner. It was after ten. And yet the house was quiet. "Where the hell is Mero this time?"

Miro was Mischa's younger brother. He was sixteen, three years younger than Mischa and a year older than Zhoa. He disappeared often, but not usually for three days in a row. This was the third morning he had already been gone when Mischa woke up. In fact Zhoa had fallen asleep on the couch with Mischa last night waiting up for Mero to come home. Either he did and left again, or he was never back at all. Both instances were concerning.

"Maybe's he's already at the market trying to get an early start," Zhoa offered.

Mischa shook his head. "He wasn't there yesterday. Do me a favor, can you find out where he is? I lost dad and I can't lose him too."

Zhoa walked over toward the door, grabbing her coat off an armchair as she passed. "I'll go home and change first, but I'm sure he's just out trying his hand at hunting again."

"He should be trying his hand at helping me earn a living! I can't take tesserae anymore you know!"

Zhoa waved him off as she closed the door behind her. On the walk home, she had plenty of time to think. A lot had happened recently. Not the least of which was the recent plague of dysentery cases in the area. This part of the 12th District Seam was nothing if not cold and poor. It didn't help that the very old water treatment plant had suffered from a fire. It was put out, but the law of the land, head peacekeeper, Mr. Jowl, refused to repair it. The kicker was that no one knew what had happened off in the woods to the treatment plant until Mischa and Mero's father died of bad water. When it was determined what had killed him, the truth came out. Mischa had been fuming, but controlled as always. Mero was never such a collected person. Maybe it was youth, maybe it was something stronger, but something inside him had broken and torn over the fate of the boys' father. He had been awake and asleep at odd hours. Now the disappearing. What was next?

Zhoa had grown up with the boys, and loved them like brother much as she loved Millie like a sister. When they were youn,g they used to play. Now they were all orphans. The boys' mother had died when they were young, Zhoa didn't remember why and Mischa wouldn't discuss it. At least she wasn't dragged off because of something illegal, Zhoa thought as she entered her home.

Everything was the same as it had been before. Since her mother was taken Zhoa had refused to change anything, and even less was able to be fixed. The roof leaked now and the floor was just about rotting from under her feet. Often times she didn't stay, opting to share a bed with Millie for the night or sleep on Mischa's floor. Despite this though, all her clothes and necessities remained at the house. The illusion that when Marie had been taken, time stopped. It calmed Zhoa to think she could step back in time and her mother might walk into a room any moment. It was almost like those last three years had never happened.

Zhoa changed into fresh clothes in her room: cotton pants, a tank and shirt, leather vest over it. Zhoa didn't know where Mischa had dug it up for her birthday last year, but she was glad he had. It was useful for hunting.

Speaking of hunting, and after brushing her hair, Zhoa lifted the worn rug lying on her bedroom floor and pried up a few loose floor boards. Reaching inside, she extracted a short bow and a quiver filled with homemade arrows. The arrows were new, the bow however was very old. It belonged to her father once. He had chosen it especially for her from his collection of weaponry kept in an old abandoned peacekeeper bunker in the woods to the north of her home.

Zhoa slipped out of her back door and ran the several dozen steps into the forest. But after running and jumping through the boulders and trees until she could no longer see her house, or any building for that matter, she stopped. Now where? If Mero was out here hunting, where would he go? He wasn't a very good hunter, as evident by the boys' empty freezer. So where would he think to go?

Zhoa decided to start looking for him in the usual places she went to sit and watch for prey. He was inexperienced, so maybe he would start with something that he had been taught. She hoped.

CHOICES

The market was busy. At least some parts were anyway. It was getting close to the Reaping and parents of children who would be attending the first time were hanging about the vendors with dresses and nice shirts looking for dress clothes. The tinker stall remained lonely though. Zhoa sighed and approached tiredly, slumping into a chair behind the desk. Mischa did not look up from a pocket watch he was working on, saying, "You didn't find him then."

Zhoa shook her head. "No and he's clearly not here. I'll try again after lunch." Her stomach growled at the prospect, but it wasn't like they had the luxury, since she hadn't caught much of anything by way of game this month. Zhoa's tesserae was taken for Millie and Magda; they even received her personal share. But the meat she got from hunting served to help the boys, so that Mero only had to take tesserae for himself. It kept his name entries low. The same reason Zhoa wouldn't let Magda let Millie take any herself, since she was old enough now. Let her wait until I'm older that eighteen or dead, Zhoa said; keep her numbers low. It was the least she could do since Joseph, Magda's husband, had died trying to smuggle her out of the district and into the wilds to the north.

No, hunting had been slow. Abnormally so. Usually Zhoa could catch enough meat to spread around, but the last month had been rough.

Zhoa's stomach growled again. She laid a hand over it to silence the grumbling and stood up. "Then again, maybe I'll try again now. If I don't catch Mero, I might catch a rabbit."

Zhoa left the market and headed back for the forest nearby where she had come from, where she had hidden her weapon in a dead tree. The streets were empty; surprising for the unusual crowd in the market. Where was everyone?

Something was behind her, someone walking. Thinking nothing of it, Zhoa turned around. Maybe whoever it was knew what was going on. It looked like Reaping Day, how empty everything was. But the man she came face to face with wasn't a citizen; it was a peacekeeper.

"Hands up," he said, pointing a handgun in her direction. Zhoa obeyed, meanwhile observing how many peackeepers had come on the small hovercraft. It looked like four. One of them approached and roughly grabbed Zhoa's right arm, yanking it squarely behind her. After doing the same to the second, he cuffed her hands together and they began walking. As she passed the man who had spoken to her he set his pistol in the holder at his hip.

"May I ask what it is I am presumed to have done?"

The man, in his thirties with a clean face and olive skin, chuckled deep in his throat before responding, "It's not about what you've done so much as it's about what someone you know is about to do."

They reached the hovercraft and upon steeping inside Zhoa expected to see two more peacekeepers as the size of the craft would suggest. Actually she was almost right, but there was someone else. The boy they were strapping into a harnessed seat was Mischa. There could be no doubt about it now: Mero was not out hunting the last three weeks. He had something much more serious in mind.

The ride took nearly an hour and throughout the aerial trek Mischa and Zhoa were ordered to remain silent. Zhoa couldn't help but wonder if this was what it was like when her mother and Joseph were taken. Somehow something much more violent always came to mind. Clearly it didn't matter how she was transported to the place where she met her end, the fact was she was killed once she got there. All Zhoa ever knew was that there was the promise of action to be taken when she and Joseph got caught on the edge of the forest, and the next morning she woke up and her mother was gone. Was that where she and Mischa were headed? On their way to an execution because of whatever Mero had up his sleeve?

They arrived in the hangar of some kind of facility. It was large and very white and lined with chrome fixtures. It was such a stark contrast to the everyday grey and dull coloration of Zhoa's world. Here the peacekeepers split up, two going with Mischa down a corridor to the right, and Zhoa and her own captors to the left. They brought her up this way and down another and eventually deposited her in a room that was windowless, with only a chair and just as white as everything else had been. They shoved her inside and turned to close the door.

"Hey!" Zhoa called after them. "Aren't you going to un-cuff me?!"

Apparently not. Zhoa refused to sit in the chair, opting instead to sit with her back against the far wall, as far from the door as possible, avoiding the corners. She wanted options when whoever would come came. So she sat. after sitting, Zhoa shifted her weight forward onto her hip bones and pressed down on her bound hands. Lifting her hips she placed herself back down behind her hands, which were now under her thighs. It took some finagling but eventually she managed to slip her bound hands underneath her legs and over her feet, so her hands would be in front of her where they would be of the most use if necessary. Still no one had come.

There was no clock. Unable to tell how much time had passed and not knowing how much time she would be waiting Zhoa made herself as comfortable as possible against the white wall behind her, eyes trained on the handle of the door.

It might have taken twenty hours or twenty minutes, who knew, but finally the handle turned and the door opened. The man who walked in now was not the same man who had walked in before. This one was fair skinned with blond hair streaked with gray. He had a mustache that was clearly kept meticulously sculpted and a cold stare that would make most people shrink away with just one glance.

The door closed behind him again, and he said in a deep voice, "There is a chair in here you know."

"I'd rather sit here." Zhoa was careful to match his tone, to try and establish an even playing field. She would have to be careful not to overplay it though. If she came on too forceful, she might as well shoot herself.

"Suit yourself." The man shrugged and took the chair himself, spinning it as to face Zhoa. He remained several feet away from her and seemed interesting in keeping distant. For what reason, there was no way to tell but Zhoa was uneasy. It would have been better if he had insisted she sit. He was respecting her, giving her leverage, something she would never have expected. He wanted something.

"You have a friend, Miss Hugg. He has been acting strangely these past weeks. I have it from my garrison that you know him well. You would agree his behavior has been odd?"

"I noticed."

"Have you any idea why?"

"No. I was trying to find him today to figure it out myself. No luck. He's been gone for three days."

The man smiled maliciously. "Yes it would seem our little friend gave us the slip. I can tell you what he was up to, but I think you can guess for yourself." Zhoa's face remained stoic, blank. "No?" he continued. "All right I'll tell you. Your friend Mero has been collecting weapons. Weapons likely from wherever your father hid them before he was caught. He's preparing for a one man war against the agents of the capitol in this area."

The man paused for a reaction. Zhoa chose her words carefully and spoke deliberately. "I did not know what he was doing, but I can see how what you say may be true. What does this have to do with me?"

The man stood and beckoned her to follow. Having him standing over her didn't sit well, so Zhoa obeyed to even the field. He took her by the arm and steered her toward the left wall. After a moment it became clear that it was no wall after all, it was a window. And through it was Mischa. He was on the ground, face black and blue and nose and mouth bleeding. "My garrison tells me you are a fine hunter, Miss Hugg. The best in the area. You know how to track animals that have passed by days in advance. My garrison are skilled, certainly, but with all the preparations for the Reaping, there is hardly time for playing hide and seek. You are his friend, the closest he has. Find this young man's homicidal brother and we'll let this one go, no the worse for wear."

"It would seem he's already worse for the wear." Zhoa regretted her words the moment they flew from her mouth, but the man only chuckled a bit and nodded. "You're right of course. No he will not be any worse than he is now."

"And if I don't find him?"

"You could return empty handed, but I don't think you and your friend will fare too well." The wall went milky again, and the man turned to her. "Find the brother and take this one home alive; don't and Mero won't be the only friend you lose over this state of affairs."

"I don't suppose I can make a bargain." The man did not respond but he raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Mischa knows his brother," Zhoa said evenly, trying to keep the tremor at bay. "I may not be able to talk Mero down enough to capture him unless I have his help. Let him come with me. It'll go a lot faster with both of us anyway. Besides, I imagine time is of the essence. Wouldn't want a cloud hanging over the Seam when Ms. Trinket comes for the Reaping next week."

She had him there. These occurrences were always handled in a timely and quiet manner, particularly close to a Reaping. It took all of five seconds for the man to agree.

THE BUNKER

"So where do we even start?" Mischa was bruised and a little bloody, but well enough to go with Zhoa. He was fitted with a tracker on his ankle before they were released outside the compound. So he could be found if Zhoa didn't deliver the other boy, the man had said. His name was Morin, the head pacekeeper.

So here they were, traipsing through the woods and trying to get themselves back in the vicinity of town. Mischa was thankfully not hurt badly so he wasn't slowing anything. What was slowing them down was the constant debate that had started since they were out of sight of the white building.

"You're not going to hand him over," Mischa insisted. "He's young, he's not thinking straight."

Zhoa was walking in front, kicking aside leaves and pulled back branches as they walked. "Are you nuts? If I don't bring him in, you're dead, I'm dead, and so is he when they find him."

"So we'll run."

"Because that worked so well when my mom tried it?" Zhao stopped and turned. "She tried three years ago and it got her and Joseph killed."

"If you're worried about you or me, then we'll all go. Lord known none of us have anything to lose anymore."

"What about Millie?! Magda?! Mischa, they will both disappear like my parents and Joseph if we just take off."

Mischa sighed and sat himself down on a boulder nearby. His head was dropping and his clasped hands dangled between his knees. "I can't lose him too, Zhoa. I just can't do it…"

Zhoa sighed and crouched to Mischa's level. "Listen…you're both like brothers to me. if I don't find him and bring him back, you're both dead. And you might not want to hear it, but I'd rather it be you."

Mischa reached out and took Zhoa's hand. "I know." He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it firmly before reaching out with his free hand to touch Zhoa's face. Their eyes met. Mischa swept the hair from Zhoa's eyes. "I know." He leaned close and kissed her lips, softly; just enough to feel the electricity.

It was a long hike back to town. It took the whole rest of the day to make it and retrieve Zhoa's bow and quiver. They made a fire and bunked down for the night. All Zhoa could think about was how they were going to get out of this. How could all three of them go home in a few days? How could they avoid more losses between them? There had already been so many…

It didn't matter how you turned it, someone was going to suffer for whatever Mero was planning. It didn't make sense for all three of them to pay for it…

In the morning, after finding some berried to eat, Zhoa and Mischa traveled mostly in silence. Around midday, Mischa caught up from his position trailing behind Zhoa and asked, "What makes you think he was headed this way towards the mountains? If I were to guess, I'd say we'll find him near the closed treatment plant."

"I know."

"Then where are we going?"

"The bunker."

It was true, if the preacekeepers had spied Mero with weapons, chances were he had been getting them from her father's stash. The peacekeepers never found it, mostly because they never dreamed an eight year old would know where it was, and so Zhoa was never questioned about it. Rumor was Stanlin was tortured for days before he finally died, but he never told them where he was keeping the weapons he made. The truth was he had been keeping them all in an abandoned peacekeeper bunker that had been condemned for years, and had been letting children like his daughter Zhoa, her friends Mischa and Mero, come and learn how to use them. It wasn't a school like in District 2 or 1, but it was better than be raised for slaughter every year. Stanlin had died seven years ago. Mischa, Mero and Zhoa kept making visits and practicing for a long time. But when things started getting bad about five years after that, they just about stopped. There was too much to do to try and get food in your mouth to bother with frivolous activities.

The bunker was still stocked with weapons. The only person with a key was Zhoa. Stanlin slipped it around her neck on a chain when the peacekeepers came for him. Only Mischa and Mero ever went there anymore, but they were always in Zhoa's company. Until now.

The early afternoon sun shone brightly between the spaces of the clouds. The bunker, basically just an entrance above ground with a door, was horribly grown over with weeds and ivy. Mischa and Zhoa had to pull all kinds of debris and rubbish from the door. It had been some time since anyone had used the door. So how was Mero getting in?

The silver padlock, made in the old style with a skeleton keyhole, was intact. No one had come in that way. Zhoa fished the key around her neck out of her shirt and stuck it in the lock. It turned just as easily as she remembered it. a small smile graced her lips. Her father had answered, when she asked why he made such and old style lock, that if it were more modern then a bump key could be used to pick it.

The door opened creakily and the day's brightness lit up the short staircase leading underground. The pair crept down carefully, as the door closed behind them leaving them in the dark. Feeling with her foot ever y time, Zhoa finally reached the bottom. "Mischa do you have a match or something?"

"No, they took everything I had on me."

Zhoa swore a little and moved to the right, feeling up and down the wall looking for the switch. After several minutes she could feel a cold metal cylinder. Zhoa grasped it and pulled upward. Suddenly the whole space was bathed in light. It wasn't strong, but at least you could see everything. The tables and stands that used to hold bows, arrows, knives, even swords and all the materials to make them were pretty bare. The tools were gone, save for the heavy hardware: the mold for short swords and hunting knives, grinders, those sort of things. Almost everything else was gone.

So it was true. Mero had been robbing her father's work. It figured, no one else was capable of making weapons; that had to be where they came from. But how was Mero getting in and out?

"Over there." Mischa was pointing to a far corner. There was dirt and debris from outside. Zhoa went and looked up. Nothing but the ceiling tiles met her eyes. Still…Zhoa grabbed a nearby table and dragged it over. She sat and swung her legs up. Standing on the table, though, she still wasn't tall enough to reach the tiles. "Mischa a little help?"

Mischa who stood over six feet these days crawled u onto the table behind Zhoa and bench his kneed to get low and offering his cupped hands for her to put her foot in. With his boost, Zhoa was able to move the tile aside and grasp at the metal frame to pull herself up. It was dim, but noticeable. Just above her head, where the dirt from above should have just been a flat barrier, there was a hole. Zhoa reached up and felt. Embedded in the walls of the hole were rungs. A makeshift ladder. She turned her head. "Mischa, you'd better come up here too."

Zhoa pulled herself into the hole to make room; fortunately Mischa was tall enough to jump up and grab the tile frame himself and pull himself up. "It's here, this is how he's been doing it. He dug through to the ceiling tiles and he's been dropping to the floor."

They climbed. It was only maybe five feet of earth, but it led to a hatch that had been hastily and inexpertly installed. It opened without much trouble and then they were outside again, some twenty feet behind the door they had come in. Zhoa blew out a short, heavy sigh and closed her eyes, shaking her head slowly. "Mischa?"

"Yeah?"

"Go back in and pick up one of the weapons, whatever left that isn't in bad shape, and a hunting knife. Anything else you can find that might be helpful; blankets, lighters, anything like that. Last night sucked."

Her tone was cold and flat. He didn't make an argument but did as she told him. In the meantime, there were two things, Zhoa had to do. The first was find some dry fallen branches. It was the dry season so no trouble there. Second was to get a rock and head back to the door. Zhoa struck the padlock twice before she broke it off. And this was where Mischa found her again. "What's that for?"

"Nothing's here anymore," Zhoa said quietly, gathering the two pieces of the lock. "Nothing to protect anymore."

"There's still some stuff down there," Mischa thumbed toward the open hatch.

"Not for long." Zhoa brushed past him and gathered her branches. After stripping them and removing the bark, she used a hunting knife Mischa had brought from inside and made a hole in one, and a stump on the other, and rubbed. After a little while, there was smoke, then a little flame sprung to life on the bed of leaves she was working on. Zhoa pulled her sleeves over her hands and picked up the flaming debris. She walked it to the hole and knelt down, lowering the fire as far as she could before dropping it.

Over the course of the afternoon, Mischa watched Zhoa as she fed the small fire below with twigs, leaves, whatever was dry in the area. He didn't saying anything for hours. Not until the sun was going down and the smoke was pouring out over the hatch. "We should move soon. The ground here might collapse."

Zhoa didn't respond. Mischa got on his hands and knees and crawled toward her, short sword in hand and blanket thrown over his shoulder. When he reached her, he turned her chin to face him. Zhoa looked but, judging from his face, Mischa didn't know what to say.

They made a little headway toward the abandoned treatment plant before making camp for the night. They made a fire, caught a rabbit, cooked, ate. All in silence.

When the stars came out, the air got cold. Zhoa sat close to the fire, rubbing her arms, chafing for warmth.

"You could come share this with me. No need to freeze to death."

Zhoa crawled over toward Mischa, who held a corner of the blanket open for her to get close. Zhoa snuggled into the old cotton blanket, thankful for the warmth she felt as Mischa enveloped his arms around her. She couldn't explain why, but Zhoa's face contorted and she started to cry.

"I know," Mischa said quietly, stroking her hair. "It was all that was left of him. I'm sorry my brother wrought all this. I don't know what we're going to do but…I know this isn't right."

He kissed her forehead, kissed the tears from her cheek. Zhoa turned her face up at him. His lips met hers, and the electricity returned. It was exhilarating. And wonderful. Her arms wove around Mischa's neck and pulled him close. For the first time in two days, things didn't seem so bad. When they parted, Zhoa smiled a little. "It's not all gone, you know. There's still the tinker shop. You kept that alive when he was gone. Thank you."

TREATMENT

The closer they got to the treatment plant, the more they found. Broken branches, footprints, and even a pile of bones from the carcasses of eaten game. It would seem that Mero had improved on his hunting skills enough to feed himself, anyway.

The plant loomed across a plane that lay next to the river. There hadn't been enough time for it to take on the kind of unused appearance as the bunker, but the noise it used to make that no longer hung in the air left an awkward silence. Mischa took Zhoa's hand and together they stepped out from the protection of the trees and onto the wide open land.

"Strange isn't it? The quiet?"

Mischa nodded. His eyes were narrowed, sharp. He was looking out for signs of Mero. But as they approached there was nothing to suggest he was around at the moment. "Go around the side," Mischa said. "I'll take this side, see where we can get in."

Zhoa dropped his hand and did as he said. Where she walked along the wall there were no doors. Down the side, around the back, nothing. Not until she reached the edge of the bank. There was a door there. Zhoa grasped the handle and turned it. She yanked on it but the door didn't budge. Using two hands this time, Zhoa pulled harder. Still nothing. She tried again, but before Zhoa could go for a fourth try, the ground underneath her gave way. She was sliding down the steep bank and into the river. Caught in the current, Zhoa struggled to keep her head above water, sputtering and gasping for air. A grating was looming before her. When the plant was working it would have been sucking water in with a powerful force, but not the current just sent water crashing against it. And this was where Zhoa found herself, plastered against the grating, face upturned to the sky and calling out for Mischa.

There was a thumping above her head. Mischa's boots came into view. His hands reached out for her. "Come on! Reach!" Mischa called over the roar. Zhoa lifted one hand up but came up short. She was trying to find some foothold with her own boots, but there was nothing down there but water. Mischa was on his stomach and reaching as far as he could.

"Both hands, Zhoa! Come on! I'll catch you!"

Zhoa dug her fingers into the grating and pushed down hard, thrusting her body higher out of the water, letting go and reaching up for Mischa. It felt like the river was going to take her, but Mischa's arms gabbed her own and he grasped at her body until her arms could grapple around her neck. It was a struggle but Mischa was able to roll over and pull Zhoa up with him. She rested on top of him, panting and filling her lungs with the warm air. They were on top of one of the intake valves, one of the many that spanned along the upstream side of the short dam that stretched across to the other bank.

"Jesus, Zhoa, you scared me," Mischa said at last.

Zhoa lifted her head. "I slipped, it was an accident." They sat up and Mischa kissed her, one hand to each side of her head.

They jumped from the valve back to the bank. Mischa was looking around in the grass. "I left it right here, where…?"

His sword was gone. And the door that Mischa had found on the other side of the compound on the bank was open. Mischa was defenseless. "Let me go first." Zhoa slipped the bow from around her shoulder and drew and arrow, setting it. "You've got nothing and he might shoot if he's scared."

"It's Mero, Zhoa, he's not going to-"

"He's not thinking straight. If we startle him he might shoot, even if he doesn't mean it."

Mischa didn't look like he believed it, but stepped aside all the same. Zhoa didn't blame him for not believing her; she didn't believe herself. He had come in while Mischa was fishing her out of the river. He knew they were here. His brother and best friend. He wouldn't raise a hand to either of them right?

Then again, he must have seen them, and he didn't help. And he took the sword Mischa had been carrying. That definitely could not bode well. And so they entered the plant, Zhoa leading, arrow nocked.

The plant was dark. The light streaming in from behind them lit the hallway they walked into lit their way until they met a door at the end, heavy and metal unlike the other office doors they had passed, also left open. Zhoa kicked it wide. Inside there was a soft glow, like from lanterns. Following the light in the cavernous space, weaving through cement pools of standing water in various stages of treatment the light was becoming brighter. There was scuffling and clanking. They were getting closer. Rounding another corner, they finally saw him.

Mero looked as though he hadn't slept in days. His hair was a mess and he was dirty from his back and forthing between the bunker and the plant. He had all the weapons that should have been in the bunker were neatly laid out, organized and illuminated by many lanterns sitting on the floor and on the ledges of the cement vats. Mero was shuffling some swords from one space to another. When he heard the footsteps he snapped his head up and saw Mischa and Zhoa.

"You're here," he said breathlessly. "I wasn't ready to show you yet, but that's okay." He turned his attention back to his work. "It's almost done now. We're almost ready."

He reached for a bow nearby and stroked the polished wood. Zhoa raised her own bow a little, but Mischa steppe din front of her, hands up in a questioning gesture, palms outward. "Ready for what?"

"Ready to fight back. All this oppression and mistreatment, all this hurt and death. I want to be compensated for everything we've lost. You, me, and Zhoa. We're fatherless, motherless, we're starving, and we're completely looked over. Well not anymore. They're not going to look me over anymore."

Mischa was inching closer to his brother. "Mero, this isn't going to help anything. It is what it is. You're just doing more harm." He paused. "There's no point in all this. Come on. Come home."

In one swift movement, Mero grabbed an arrow and nocked it, aiming for Mischa, who now backed up and raised his arms in surrender. "You're not with me, then you're against me," Mero said evenly, standing up, bow still raised.

"They know what you've been up to," Mischa said. "It's over. Come with us and maybe we can help you."

Mero's face reddened and anger lit his eyes. "You're working for them! You're just as bad as they are!"

"Mischa," Zhoa said quietly. "Get behind me, you're defenseless, get behind me."

Mischa did not listen. He just kept talking. "Mero come on. It's not like we didn't know something could happen. Something always does. We're all suffering out here; the whole district has had troubles and trials. And losses. We're not alone. You're grieving and you're in shock. Just come with us and we can work something out!"

"You're going to turn me in! You're trying to kill me just like they killed dad!"

It all happened so fast. He let go and the arrow met its mark in Mischa's chest. He collapsed and Zhoa trained her eye on Mero. She shot, but he moved a bit. Still he fell to the floor. Zhoa dropped to her knees. There had to be something she could do…

Mischa's eye were open and he was panting. "Don't talk," Zhoa said. "You'll be all right. I'm going to take care of you."

But a moment later he was gone. Zhoa felt sick to her stomach, but still, she closed his eyes. But before she could break down and shed even a single tear, there was a sound from across the room. Zhoa crawled over to Mero. He was not only alive, but he was conscious, hands gasping at the arrow ledged in the center of his body just below the breast plate.

"Why, Mero? All this over the plant, over your dad…why? You had to have known nothing was going to change. All it would do is cause more hurt."

His head shook slightly. "No…" Mero whispered, a gurgling in his throat chasing the words. "…Zhoa…I don't deserve to live…don't even want to…I just want my family…you find a way to get out of this, you have to live…just do one thing for me."

He was tired. He took a hand and reached for Zhoa's vest, pulling her down so he could whisper in her ear. When he was finished, Zhoa nodded and grasped the arrow, laying her hands over his. "Ready?" Mero nodded. Together, they tugged and the arrow was free. Blood poured from the wound and per Mero's request Zhoa did nothing to stop it. Instead she held his hands as the light left his eyes.

When he was gone, Zhoa let his hands go and doubled over. The tears came freely. She could barely register the fact that she was screaming. She shuffled from Mero to Mischa and lifted him to her lap, cradling his head and shoulders. "Please…," she pleaded to his body, the air, the insects; whatever would listen. "Please don't leave me…"

There was no response other than the muffled roar of the water rushing by outside.

HISTORY

"So that's what happened is it?"

"It is."

Morin sat opposite of where Zhoa stood. The room was much larger than the one they had last met in, but it was only lit in the area in which they were speaking, face to face. Morin sat back and sighed. "I would love nothing more than to consider you for the payment I told you would come if you didn't deliver. Unfortunately, the decision has come from on high. Apparently you're too valuable to someone to kill over something so petty. You're off the hook. Mostly."

"As long as it leaves what's left of my family alone, I don't care."

"You might." Morin seemed amused now. "See, while we're letting you go free, obviously you can't get off scot free. You were supposed to handle this for us and ended up losing both boys. Something must be done about your bad word. You will endure fifty extra entries for the Reaping this year."

"Fifty?"

"It seemed fitting, since the last time you were untruthful it earned you fifty entries."

He was referring to the entries her mother's plot three years ago earned her. authorities though she should have been old enough to turn her own mother and uncle in. They lost their lives and Zhoa got fifty extra entries for her silence. It was already more than anyone she ever knew at the time. This put her at 116. "More entries than anyone in history."

"You live, your name goes down in the books for all time. Seems like you're getting off light. Someone in the capitol must be interested in you."

Under the circumstances, that was certainly true. Her name had yet to be called despite her numerous entries, she wasn't dead over this whole mess as promised…someone was making sure she made it as long as was possible before her final Reaping. Zhoa would bet her life on it.


End file.
